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Wednesday, 24 April 2013

Our wacky St. James Street neighbours - The Kemlo's

I spent the majority of my
childhood, in fact in my opinion, the most important years of my life, before
marriage and kids, at 29 St. James Street, Somerset West.These were my formative years.

Some of my happiest days were in
those years.The irony of course, being
that I didn’t realise it at the time.That insight only came with advanced years and more life
experience.Life was simpler then.I didn’t worry about bills, the education of
my kids, running a home and a business, guiding my kids along the correct path,
the moral fibre of society, the fact that Riaan Cruywagen had finally left our
TV screens, or what to make for supper.

Oh no!In those days, I worried about far more
important things, like my split ends (practically non-existent at the time),
how lame my folks were, how hard done by I was (we never even had a video
machine in the house – I thought it was akin to living in the dark ages), the
fact that my brother always seemed to have a handy excuse at the ready when us
kids had to tidy the kitchen, a never ending cycle of practicing the piano for
my next lesson, my teenage sister who simply ALWAYS borrowed my clothes
(without asking!), the way I had to cycle or walk to school every day because
my selfish parents wouldn’t lift me, the annoying habit my folks had of forcing
me to do homework, the accountability they taught me for my actions, the
pathetic curfew I had to submit to when I went out, the healthy food we had to
eat (we NEVER did Take-Aways or restaurants), the snacky food in the house
always being boring fruit (or raisins – yip-de-doo – NOT), the nagging I had to
listen to about lying on the phone chatting to my friends when my folks were
wanting to make so called “important” calls instead, the annoyance of not
having the latest and most fashionable clothes, the horrors of hand-me-downs,
my parents simply ALWAYS listening to their taste in music, loudly (they didn’t
appreciate my much cherished Rick Astley record – can’t imagine why), the
subjection we always endured on Sundays of listening to LOUD classical music (
yip, they were seriously lame), the way they wouldn’t let me go away for a
weekend, unsupervised and un-chaperoned, with a boyfriend (pathetic!), their
indulgence in family meetings, my continuous aspiration in getting the latest
teen magazines, trying to save up money to buy a Roxette album, having a strict
bedtime (We had to go to our rooms every night at 8pm – positively
archaic!!!We didn’t have to sleep
immediately, but we were not allowed to hang around in the lounge, kitchen or
in front of the TV.So selfish and
rude!), their obsession with us tidying up after ourselves, etc.You know what I mean?I was worrying about seriously important life
and death stuff way back then.At least
it felt that way to me.

Now the thing with St James
Street, is that it lay below the Main Road in Somerset West, towards the
railway station.A no-no.Yip, we grew up on “the wrong side” of town.29 St. James Street, was not a prestigious
address, in the eyes of “the popular”.Yet our house was golden.Magnificent in every single way.My folks had, with the assistance of an awesome team of labourers
(Helene, Albert and Katrine), managed to lovingly restore and renovate the
house to a place of beauty.We spent
weekends, wielding a belt sander, scraping a window frame, painting or
varnishing.I wish I could capture it’s
magnificence for you.Though there are
many, many photos that sort of do her justice.

But the marvellous thing of St
James Street, was the sense of community and camaraderie between
neighbours.It was a time and a place
when being neighbours still meant a lot.We knew the people who lived next door to us, and further up the road.In fact, it proved to be quite a prolifically
talented road.It produced my brother,
Albert Frost, obviously.My dad too
played in a band and was a musical maestro, promoter and organiser of
note.So was my mom for that
matter.It also produced the two Swart
sisters, Lise and Nina.Nina spent years
playing someone called Willemien on 7de Laan, I think.She has gone on to do many, many local
television series, and has now even taken to directing and producing programmes
too.In fact, the Afrikaans programme,
Boer Soek ‘n Vrou, is her brainchild.As
for Lise?Well Lise is one amazingly
talented lady.She spent years doing the
music scene, playing with amongst others, Anton Goosen, Valiant Swart,
etc.She is also SA TV royalty,
especially on Kyknet.She hosted the
cooking programme, Roer, and Pitstop as well as the Revlon Supermodel too.

But this is not the Swart-Sister
story.This story, is about our other
absolutely fabulous neighbours - the Kemlo family.They were just such fun.Part of their charm, was the fact that they
were also quirky and different.Just
like us.They comprised a Dad and a Mom,
three sisters, a younger brother, and a granny we almost never seemed to
see.In fact, we often debated around
our dining room table, if she was still alive.Still, every so often we would see her again.Only to start another round of dining room
table debates, as to exactly where she had been?Furthermore, irrespective of the season, come
rain or sunshine, whether in the middle of the week or during the weekend,
albeit the crack of dawn, midday, late afternoon, evening, or the wee nightly
hours, the smell of a braai simply always wafted over the wall.Followed by the sound of chopping wood for
their braais.Which inevitably led us to
long discussions once more as to the last time we had had a live sighting of
the granny?They used to have marvellous
parties, braais and unprovoked jols.Most often accompanied by singing.Lots and lots and lots of singing.Singing of old songs.The songs
of my parents era.The Beatles, the
Rolling Stones, Cream, Eric Clapton, Jethro Tull, to name but a few.And just for fun?Well the odd South African folky number too,
like “My Sarie Marais”.Occasionally it
even sounded like howling.Like the type
one would expect wolves to make.And
naturally, this too led us to long discussions about the whereabouts of Noni,
as granny Kemlo was called , once more.Their life seemed a never ending series of fun and excitement.A continuous never ending social
gathering.They always had friends
around and were in a festive and holiday mood.All the time.

And I suspect, that like my
folks, they too had financial struggles.It is tough making ends meet and feeding kids.Not to mention schooling and clothing, and
things of that ilk.Their Dad was an
excellent draughtsman.The mom a home
maker.Their kids were amazing.The daughter closest to me in age, was Vice Head
Girl of the school, the year after I matriculated.They are all successful, well rounded,
independent individuals, making a positive contribution to society.

They always seemed jolly and
happy.Everyone always friendly.I don’t think they had a Hi-Fi. Ever.Which was probably partially the cause of their late night
singing/howling (about that granny…).

And what was so marvellous about
that, was the occasional phone call we’d receive from next door.Or even the odd holler over the wall.

“Please play that Stevie Ray
Vaughan song again”.Or “Track number
three is cool, play it again”.And then
were was always “Louder!Louder!!!”.

You Kemlo’s were the best.Miss you long time and hope you’re all well.

And just to report back, granny Noni
Kemlo died many years later.Of natural
causes.

Some of the St. James Street gang - from l.t.r. Tanya Kemlo, Jayne Holtzhausen, Katrine Auld and Lise Swart in the back - the fearsome foursome

View of St. James Street garden - too beautiful!

Now this one is a real gem - a St. James Street fancy dress at the Kemlo's. Included in this pic - Cara, Tanya and Dean Kemlo, Jayne and Robin Holtzhausen, Lise Swart and Katrine Auld.